


It's not much of a set- but it's all I've got time to make.

by hedwwig



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedwwig/pseuds/hedwwig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's see what would happen if Abed Nadir translated the process of falling in love with Troy Barnes into some melodramatic poetry, shall we?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not much of a set- but it's all I've got time to make.

**Author's Note:**

> From Abed's perspective, set somewhere in season 3. Title taken from "B Film," by Faded Paper Figures.

I do not take well to kindness.

I will fall in love on an elevator if you give me three floors and a shy smile. I’ll never smile back, but it doesn’t matter.

I’ll play it out in my head in a matter of seconds, thank my father and my manager for the Oscar, and go home, putting our love story on the shelf with the thousands of others, falling asleep in a rented tuxedo.

But then in you waltz like a hurricane, like sweet amaretto not quite camouflaging the bitter gin in the bile rising in the back of my throat, and the back of my mind is warning me about boys like you, but there’s never been a boy like you, and a boy like me doesn’t have a god damn clue what exactly he’s supposed to do in this scenario.

So I kick my heels up onto my desk, mentally adjust the lighting, and call you a dame whose name spells Trouble. Because I can do dark and gritty, and if you stick with the script we’re golden, ponyboy, but now I’m genre shifting against my will and your name tastes like mint between my teeth and I’ll be damned if I know what I even meant by that line but it sticks and it stays, and so do you.

The girl in the elevator had red hair, I think? I can’t remember anymore.

Within a month we’re finishing each others sentences, within a year we move in tandem, we’re Mako and Raleigh- no, shit, Yancy and Raleigh, we’re brothers, but closer, within two years we’re buying an apartment and it’s too fucking late to turn back, and we sit on the floor in our pajamas eating cold pizza because we haven’t bought any furniture yet but the walls are all decorated with pictures of us and we tell our friends and I catch the sly glances between them and pray to god you don’t notice because you still haven’t left.

The lights are up, the crowd has gone, the kid with acne is sweeping popcorn from beneath the sticky seats, and you still haven’t left.

I want to grab your shoulders and shake, and scream, this isn’t a double feature, there’s nothing left, what you’ve seen is what you get and what you get is garbage to begin with because this elevator is stuck between floors so why does it still feel like I’m falling?

I do not take well to kindness.

I climb the stage stairs to accept my award, thank my father and my manager, and find your eyes in the crowd. I raise the golden trophy above my head and knock the others off the shelf. I fall asleep in the same pajamas I always wear, with your head on my shoulder as the credits roll.

I don’t take elevators anymore.

And I always smile back.


End file.
